Asking Papi About His Life on the Other Side of Death

I am waiting over 7 months before posting my lucid dreams, so I am approximately 40 lucid dreams behind.

Dream of May 6, 2014
It’s a lovely day and I’ve walked halfway down our long, curving black driveway, which is surrounded by trees in full summer leaf. After I take care of some private ritual business off to one side in the grass, I begin walking slowly back up the driveway toward the house. Everything feels absolutely real, more vividly sensual than normal; even the slightly rough texture of the black asphalt beneath my bare feet tempts me to lie down on it and experience it’s unique sensation more intimately. I dismiss this urge, and for a few moments the world goes dark, but not completely, because to the right of one of our tallest tulip trees there is still the luminous sky, and the edge of the darkness is defined by the shape of this beloved tree I look at every single day. Relaxed, I continue walking, simply waiting for my full vision to return, which it does. Once again I’m walking on a lovely sunny day. I’m thinking about, and feeling deeply grateful for, how much I love my home as I round the final curve in the driveway.

The house comes into view, and immediately I see a man walking toward me. Behind him, an intimate group of people is gathered at the top of the drive where it merges with the brick courtyard. My heart literally seems to expand in my chest when I realize the visitor is Papi! He strides across the grass toward me, smiling his beloved smile. Above “normal” clothes, he is wearing a flesh-colored fur cape, long and affluent-looking, but light enough to billow around him. I hurry to meet him, gazing joyfully at his face and into his eyes.

“Papi! I didn’t expect you!” I see that his third wife Adela (who is still alive) is part of his retinue when she shoots me a look that clearly says they need to be on their way. Papi lets me know, without actually telling me so, that he only dropped by to say hello, that he can’t stay, and already he’s turning toward the big car around which the others are gathering. I suffer the sinking feeling I am all too familiar with. It’s obvious I desire to spend more time with him than he does with me, which makes me really sad. I protest, “You can’t just stop by for five minutes, Papi! You have to stay! Please, Papi!” I will NOT let him leave so soon…

Abruptly, we are all inside a small, rectangular room I know is part of my house (although not in waking reality). I instantly grasp this is an antechamber of sorts where guests can congregate, as they do now, some sitting, others standing and talking in the clear, even light. There are no lamps, no furnishings at all, but a man with dark hair, his back to me (my brother?) is loudly and passionately playing a piano. Papi is standing a few feet away from me, smiling and saying something to someone. He looks happy and healthy, which makes me happy but also confuses me. Can it be that his leukemia is in remission? He has been sick for years, and yet not only is he still alive, he looks as though he might actually be getting better?

A dark transition I can’t remember… The next thing I know, I’m sitting in a bigger and darker room, where, diagonally across from me, Papi is seated in the center of a couch. Keeping my focus on him, I somehow manage to pull myself up into a standing position, and walk over to him. Looking intently down into his eyes, I say, “It’s okay, I’m lucid now. I wasn’t lucid before. I understand that you’re dead.”

Smiling, he replies, “Of course I’m dead.”

Still standing over him, I declare, “I haven’t been lucid like this with you since the night on top of that building in Coral Gables, when we were going down to eat together.” He responds to this, but all I remember of what he says is, “Of course you would.”

I sit down beside him on the couch to his left. As we talk, I look directly into his dark eyes, which appear bloodshot. Or is it that his pupils and irises are wider than in physical life and obscuring the whites? I ask him many questions, and our positions relative to each other occasionally shift as we converse. I wish I could remember everything we talked about word-per-word, but I do know for a fact that I was perceiving the Other Side as he is experiencing it. At the beginning of our long conversation, I clearly sensed from him that life-after-death isn’t what he had expected it to be; that it is much like physical life but infinitely more dynamic, a “process” he is actively, profoundly engaged in.

At one point, while we’re both standing, he tells me about a female acquaintance who really wants a particular golden mausoleum for herself. I realize he’s making a joke about dead people tomb-hunting the way living people house hunt. I exclaim, “You don’t really live in mausoleums here!” and he smiles at me the way I remember him doing whenever he was pulling my leg.

Well into our conversation, I ask him, “Is there an infrastructure here?”

He looks away, and the wonder in his voice is shadowed by fear as he answers, “Maria, it’s as if the center of the city is alive…”

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This makes wonderful sense to me and I tell him, “It must be the heart” as in the Sacred Heart. The image that flashes in my mind when he says this is of an open city square filled with a misty dark-blue light manifesting between the buildings, and joining earth and sky as it juts out slightly, almost like a breast subtly pulsing, profoundly, unfathomably alive, but just one small, intimate connection—like a private bay adjoining an unimaginably vast ocean—to an absolute supreme awareness, all-knowing, all-nurturing, all-giving, unending Life. It is nearly impossible for me to describe what I felt in that vision, but I instantly grasp that the world Papi is living in now constantly manifests his innermost thoughts and feelings.

Excited, I tell him, “I have a theory, Papi, that we are all like cells in a single body, so here (the Other Side) individual souls might be like cells bringing this world to life.” I seem to comprehend that the activity of “day-to-day” life here centers on experiencing and “working” with your soul, which is effectively turned inside-out.

We’re sitting up facing each other while also somehow embracing. I say, “I’ve asked you a lot of questions, Papi, and I’ve been dreaming for a long time. It’s going to be hard for me to remember everything you said. Let’s go over the points we covered. First, the infrastructure here is alive…” I phase out of the dream.

Dream Notes:

I got the impression that Papi and everyone else in this Other Side city/world was, metaphorically, suckling at this same “cosmic breast” which cared for them while helping them grow. It was not his creation; he was a little afraid of it.

Today I am tired, in a good way. There is much, much to absorb. My mother pointed out how at the beginning of the dream, I had to insist that my father stay and spend time with me, and how it was my determination that obliged him to actually sit down and talk to me in a lucid dream. I am only just realizing what a milestone this is in our relationship and, perhaps, I hope, in his own spiritual growth. I know he loved me, but he always cut our phone conversations off after the preliminaries, when there was the real danger they might become more intimate, and he might have to answer deeper questions about how he was really feeling. This time, I didn’t let him hang up!

From a Christian perspective, my father is in Purgatory. In modern spiritual parlance, he is in one of countless concensus realities created by souls who prefer a more earth-like existence while they continue to learn and grow spiritually, and so on. The Sacred Heart which Papi described as the center of the city being alive connects this “place” on the Other Side with God, but it is not heaven, which in itself is not a place but true, full union with God.

It is no accident this incredible dream with Papi comes now when I have re-embraced Christ. The darkness of the dream scene was a manifestation of the darkness of my father’s spiritual doubts and his fear of death. He was a good man who devoted himself to helping poor people in developing countries as director of USAID in Central America, which may explain the rather technical word I found myself spontaneously using in the dream “infrastructure”, for much of his work consisted of overseeing the development of more modern infrastructures in poor rural areas.

Comments and Questions Welcome